


Teeth

by darklavender



Series: Ironborn Drabbles [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:30:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1888476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darklavender/pseuds/darklavender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of the many changes Theon had suffered at the hands of Ramsay, his rock wife was most troubled by his teeth. AU - (Theon took a rock wife when he returned to Pyke the first time. Stannis returned him to Pyke after he escaped Ramsay)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Of the many changes Theon had suffered at the hands of Ramsay, his rock wife was most troubled by his teeth. AU - (Theon took a rock wife when he returned to Pyke the first time. Stannis returned him to Pyke after he escaped Ramsay)

It sickened her- his mouth; every grunt, every groan.

Smooth, white teeth were missing, though she didn’t dare to count the red angry gaps where they once were held in root. The only teeth that remained were corroding in rot and yellow neglect. She could sometimes smell the ashes of burnt rosemary he would rub on his remaining teeth in an attempt at hygiene. Little did he know that she would have much preferred every last tooth be ripped from his mouth. Perhaps then he wouldn’t make the effort to give her such terrifyingly crooked smiles – if one could even call them smiles; grimaces, maybe. But she shielded him from his own shame, always offering a practiced smile in return. After all, he was once her prince; though stronger, and with more fingers and teeth.

_Bolton_

_Ramsay_

_Reek_

These names fell in silent damnation from her lips every night, when the flesh-and-bone remnant of the boy-prince she once adored would roll from atop her, sweaty and sated. In their past, her warmed hands would cling to his iron arms, and beg him to stay. He would always laugh in return, ‘You’re to be my rock wife. You’ll have my children, not my affection.’ _Affection was for salt wives, and talented, lying whores._

Yet now, he would never move to leave her side. He would simply lie on his battered back, his mangled hands attempting to soothe her with gentle strokes down the back of her shoulder and spine as she turned away from him. Whispered apologies would struggle to cut through the silence between them. He felt shameful for his rushed, sporadic thrusts, and the lack of prowess he had once prided himself on. His body had once been magnificent to her, he knew; hard and tough as iron beneath unmarred skin that smelled of salt and sea. Now only frailty and weakness visited her bed. And for this, he felt no amount of apologies would ever suffice.


End file.
